


A Sweet Disorder

by Pigeon



Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Time, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-19
Updated: 2010-08-19
Packaged: 2017-10-18 09:50:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pigeon/pseuds/Pigeon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a brief encounter in a bookshop</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sweet Disorder

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the lovely [](http://bertee.livejournal.com/profile)[**bertee**](http://bertee.livejournal.com/) , who requested "shy!bookish!Jensen works in a book store and JDM comes in asking for a book. Then there is sex." there was also supposed to be cuddling but that got lost in the shuffle....sorry! Lastly the title comes from the Herrick poem 'Delight in Disorder' as does the quote in the fic

  
It's as simple as book-dust on fingertips, as hardbacks bound in dark cloth, as Song of Songs, the burnished red of old leather, faint tobacco-y perfume and the rustle of yellowing paper.

As simple as wide green eyes behind wire spectacles.

Jeff walks slowly between the stacks. Prowls almost. It's an old townhouse, barely converted, and one small book filled room leads on to another, tiny fading tags that curl in the corner proclaiming HISTORY, SCIENCE, POETRY, FICTION.

Up the stairs, each tread bordered by paperbacks and tied bundles of National Geographic, turn left at the top and into what would have once been the upstairs parlor.

It occurs to him that he might not be lucky today; that today might be the day that the kid with the ugly lopsided glasses and blue ink stained hands isn't here – he cannot work every day, must have some other life outside of quietly sorting and categorizing and cataloguing, must have friends, an apartment, interests outside of worn pages and fading typeface.

Past the sheet music cabinet, through the narrow space between the stacks for RELIGION and BIOGRAPHY, down to the dim-lit alcove nestled between the chimneybreast and the back wall.

The Kid is seated cross legged on the floor, a stack of books to the side that dwarfs him, tiny limp vellum edition with tissue thin pages cradled in one hand, neat printed EROTICA label pinned to a shelf above his head.

The first time Jeff saw him, he'd just looked, hadn't said anything, just looked. Kid never once glanced up, a Le Fanu bound in mottled book boards open on his lap.

That had been in HORROR.

The next day was a heavy tooled leather Waugh in FICTION.

When it had been Juvernal in POETRY, Jeff had stepped up close and asked whether they had any Rochester. The Kid had barely moved, just reached up and passed over The Farce of Sodom or The Quintessence of Debauchery.

After that it was Crystal's Encyclopedia of Language in GRAMMAR, 3rd floor, once a back bedroom. There Jeff had crouched down low, touched him on the knee, and enquired where he could find The Sins of the Cities of the Plain.

The Kid had looked up startled, still caught up in morphological variation and lexical structure, wide eyes blinking sharply and struggling to focus. "Downstairs," soft low voice, quiet and hushed for church. "The front room, at the back."

Jeff had thanked him and left.

Today he cannot see the title of the book, just the tiny Arabic script flowing smooth and fluid across the pages.

Overhead the floorboards creak, and fine dust drifts down to them.

"I've a soft spot for Fanny Hill I admit, but in truth I find Herrick's Delight in Disorder far more to my taste." Jeff doesn't touch the Kid yet, just stands close and waits.

The Kid's fingers twitch on the page, and he hears a stifled intake of breath. " _A wild civility_."

"Yeah." Jeff's voice has dropped deep. " _A wild civility_ ," he repeats.

The Kid puts his volume aside (The Perfumed Garden, sticky-taped to the front beneath gold etched Arabic), and rises slowly to his feet. He's an inch or two shorter than Jeff, and slight built for all that his shoulders are broad and square.

Jeff shuffles in closer, absorbing the scattering of toffee sweet freckles and lips full and soft looking. The Kid is holding himself still, but his eyes are tilted down, and Jeff hooks a finger beneath his chin, "Hey." Leaning closer, and it's warm shared breath, mouths a fraction from each other.

Then Jeff folds, going to his knees, and reaching for the fly of the Kid's battered corduroys.

A startled noise, and Jeff half expects a protest, a plea that this is too public, here in this little shop where other customers stroll and browse around them.

Instead the Kid gives one awkward jolt, then eases his legs a little further apart.

The cloth of the Kid's pants is peeled back, and underwear hooked uncomfortably behind his balls, and Jeff is glancing up to see the kid has taken off his glasses and shut his eyes, cheeks a flushed pink.

"Keep nice and quiet now," he directs, and breathes hot and wet on the Kid's length. He means to keep this slow, starts to lick and press kisses to the hard silken weight of the Kid's cock, before pausing to suck and tease at his balls. "Tell me your name, Sweetheart."

"Jensen," voice wavering, on the edge of uncertain.

A kiss to the head, "Pretty name." Tongue teasing along the slit, moving closer and swallowing down once before drawing back again. "I'm Jeff." Cupping the Kid's balls in his hand, gentle squeeze and tug, delicious weight in his palm.

A huff of choked laughter above him, and Jeff is smiling as he swallows Jensen down again, taking as much as he can in his mouth, the rest wrapped in one large fist.

He sucks lazily, works his tongue in slow winding patterns along the underside of Jensen's cock, hums for a brief moment before letting his mouth turn slack again.

His spare hand kneads into the muscle of the Kid's thigh, then shifts up, over the point of a narrow hip to splay flat against a toned belly.

Hum. Swallow. Pause. Hum. Swallow. Pause.

Jeff's listens as Jensen starts to gasp, body beginning to rock and tremble with need.

Hum. Swallow. Pause.

When Jensen gives a low hurting sound he sucks harder, swallowing deeper, letting Jensen press harder into his mouth.

He hums and there is a perfect liturgy of pained little moans, a flood of bitter taste, and Jensen's body tenses and jerks beneath his hands.

He softens his mouth but doesn't release Jensen's cock until it has stopped twitching, and the Kid starts to squirm. Putting Jensen's clothes to rights, corduroys zippered and buttoned, shirt half un-tucked and badly creased, he clambers to his feet. "Alright?"

The Kid nods.

"Good," Jeff catches Jensen's earlobe between his teeth and bites gently. "Now, come home with me, and let me really take my time with you."

The Kid nods again, "Yes."

  
.


End file.
